Comatose
by Red-the-Mudkip
Summary: What do you get when you cross a law student-turned-Shinx, a spirit medium, a magician, and a very loud voice? Whatever it is, it isn't good, learns 19-year-old Kristoph Gavin as he tries to keep up with three kids who want to make an exploration team. In this novelization of "PMD: Explorers", can the team save the world from its doom, or will an enemy get the better of them?


_**COMATOSE**_

**_Chapter One_**

_August 27, 3:46 PM. Los Angeles District Court; Courthouse Cafeteria._

"Ah, Mister Armando? I don't really like my coffee black." Dahlia tilted her head and smiled that sickeningly sweet smile, even though they both knew it was far from her real smile. "Would you mind adding cream? And two teaspoons of sugar?"

Being the gullible man he was, Diego Armando kept that ever-present, calm smirk on his face and replied in his deep, smooth voice. His collected demeanor really got on Dahlia's nerves sometimes, but she was good at hiding it—and besides, wasn't she going to get rid of him in the next few moments anyway? "Of course, Tigress."

The gentleman had taken to calling her "Tigress", mostly because the nickname "Kitten" was now reserved for his colleague, Mia Fey. Mia Fey…the stupid lawyer who had come so close to yanking the truth out of Dahlia. The young woman seated at the table let her eyes harden as she stared out the window and played with a lock of her crimson hair. She hated even _thinking_ about that imbecile, that lady who thought she was better than Dahlia Hawthorne.

As he rose from his seat and ambled off with the red-haired girl's cup of coffee in one hand, Miss Hawthorne took the time to observe her surroundings. She was in the noisy courthouse cafeteria, which was bustling with lawyers who were celebrating after a victorious trial, bailiffs on a quick lunch break, or law students eager to watch the next trial featuring their favorite attorneys.

She thought she saw a fairly familiar head of blond hair among the crowd, but it disappeared as a waitress walked past and obscured her view. The literature student gave it no further thought.

Dahlia put an elbow on the table and let her cheek rest on her delicate palm, swinging her legs under the table absently. She glanced down at the beautiful necklace she wore. It was a bottle necklace, actually; the bottle was made of shiny crystal that reflected the light coming from a window by Dahlia's booth. Another heart, a bigger one made of gold, framed the little bottle nicely, and the pendant hung from a gold chain that had once belonged to her stepsister Valerie.

Speaking of the necklace… Dahlia quickly glanced up over the heads of many people to see Armando by the coffee machine, apparently picking his acquaintance's drink up and walking across the room to their booth while stirring her drink. _Dangit, he's coming_, the red-haired woman snapped to herself. _I need to do it. Now. Before he or anyone else sees._

She scanned the room to make sure no one was watching the beautiful young lady. It was a quick scan, since she didn't have much time, so she wasn't entirely sure if anyone was watching. However, the cafeteria was pretty busy, so nobody would notice anyway.

Dahlia rapidly unscrewed the crystal bottle's cap and set it on the table. She raised a hand to her chest and took the bottle between her fingers, feeling the smooth, cold substance on her skin. But Hawthorne couldn't pay much attention to that, because she had a fool to get rid of and that fool was approaching their booth as she thought about all this.

Her hand, still holding the pendant delicately, inched closer to Diego's cup of black, bitter coffee. It was as if Miss Hawthorne was an entirely different person: her pale, porcelain-like face twisted into a sneer as her eyes narrowed. Dahlia swiftly poured a transparent liquid into the cup before twisting the cap back on and shoving her hands downwards so that they were resting on her lap.

The innocent façade she had been wearing moments before returned as she closed her eyes and smiled at Armando, who was now taking his seat and setting the younger woman's coffee cup down on the table. Her eyes opened once more to quickly peer into Diego's drink. It didn't look a mite different.

Said man still had that smirk on his lips as he tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. "What is it, Tigress? Something really good suddenly happen while I leave you unattended?"

Her smile was replaced with a confused stare. "Wh-Wha…?"

"There are all kinds of happiness in the world, but no happiness can compare to the look on one's face when they taste just the right blend of the bitter darkness that is coffee."

Again with the coffee proverbs. Along with his unbreakable mind, this was what really annoyed Dahlia about the man before her. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and ask for a translation, and instead settled on letting out a high-pitched giggle that lots of people would describe as 'cute'. "Wow! Poetic as always, Mister Armando!"

Luckily, Diego seemed to get the message and decided to explain to her. "Basically, you look happy. A little happier than your mask usually is. You really should show your real smile more often. It makes you look even prettier, Tigress."

He leaned forward, resting both hands on the edge of the table, and his smirk turned into a teasing grin. Their brown eyes locked, and the attorney's glimmered with amusement as the student sitting across from him tried not to glare.

Was he _flirting_ with her? Dahlia blinked, a mix of feelings flowing through her. She felt a tinge of fear—had Armando figured it out? _No_, Dahlia told herself. _He…he's not smart enough for that._ The redhead was also doing everything in her power to refrain from slapping Diego—this disgusting coffee addict, the same one who hated her guts and was trying to jail her, was _flirting with her_. How _dare_ he?

She let herself blush and felt the familiar warmth in her cheeks, tearing her gaze away from his and shyly bringing a hand to her mouth. "M-Mister Armando! Please don't do that! You know I'm already dating…Dougie!"

It was true: Miss Hawthorne had met a student named Doug Swallow in the Pharmacology Department of Ivy University, the college she attended, and had started dating him to gain access to the Pharmacology building. There, Dahlia had stolen the poison (it was called "atroquinine" or something) that she had poured into Armando's coffee—speaking of which, when was he going to _drink_ the blasted thing? The sooner he dropped dead, the sooner Dahlia could get out of here.

Diego leaned back, chuckling. "Relax, Tigress, and sheathe those claws of yours. I was only joking."

"Oh…" Dahlia looked back up so that the lawyer could see that her timid expression had been replaced by one of pure joy—which meant, in Dahila's case, that she was grinning a grin full of sharp white teeth and staring straight at Diego with bright eyes.

"…But I can't sheathe my claws just yet, can I?" This time, Dahlia was the one to lean forward, and she placed a porcelain hand gently on the black-haired attorney's. She was only about an inch from his face when she purred, "After all, I need to do something _very important_ with you."

For the first time ever, Dahlia Hawthorne saw that confident smirk vanish as a look of shock crossed Diego's face. The surprise changed to suspicion as he pulled back, narrowing his eyes at the red-haired 'Tigress' and yanking his hand away. Armando slowly picked up his coffee cup, almost as if it was going to protect him—_That's right, just bring it to your lips and sip it now_—and demanded, "What are you going to do, Hawthorne? Kill me?"

His statement was probably meant to be sarcastic, but Dahlia couldn't help laugh her _real_ laugh—which was just like that fake, high-pitched giggle, but there was something creepy about it now—at how correct he was. But she didn't tell him that. "I don't want to tell you yet…after all, that wouldn't be fun, would it?"

"Whatever you want to do, I won't let you…creep."

And then he closed his eyes and his lips touched the rim of the cup, and Dahlia wanted to squeal with glee, but she just told him one thing. "Really? I didn't think you'd tell a lie like that, Mister Armando."

Diego took a sip and set the drink down, eyes still shut—it took a second or two for the poison to take effect—before he warily asked a question. "What do you mean…?"

She didn't have a chance to answer (not like she was going to answer anyway), because the attorney seemed to choke on something before he slumped, and his head hit the table with a quiet _thud_.

Dahlia laughed. She didn't know the exact reason she laughed, but maybe it was because this annoying, good-for-nothing _idiot_ was dead; or maybe because it seemed like everyone was too noisy and busy to notice anything; or maybe it was because Diego Armando was so naïve.

_Anyway_, the college student mused, _I need to get out of here and get rid of this necklace before the police come and find me out…_

As she stood up and made a right, heading for the exit opposite of the register, the young lady's eyes trailed down to gaze at her necklace. She began to finger with it, taking it in her hand like she had while pouring the atroquinine into Armando's cup of coffee. Yes, it really was a beautiful thing, and it was quite useful, too. But she couldn't keep it for long now. How to dispose of it…?

"Miss Hawthorne." She stopped walking as her thoughts were cut off by a familiar voice laced with a slight German accent. Dahlia glanced up to find herself face-to-face with a tan-skinned boy, a few inches taller than her, whose arms were currently crossed. He was glaring hard at her and tilting his head downwards in order to make eye contact, but his eyes were obscured anyway because the cafeteria light reflected against his glasses, which provided an eerie effect.

This man was none other than Kristoph Gavin, a defense attorney-to-be who took literature class with Dahlia at Ivy University. With his long, neat blond hair, curled into a drill-like shape, and his nicely ironed blue-gray suit, most of the girls at the university were head-over-heels for him. He was completely oblivious to this, however.

A plan was beginning to form in Dahlia Hawthorne's mind: she could charm this boy; bat her eyelashes and blush a little, and then he'd fall for her completely, like all other men. Then, she would hand the necklace to him, saying that it was a…a 'token of their love', or something, and it would be done and over with. Perfect, as usual.

"Dahlia!" He repeated her name once more, louder this time, to catch her attention.

"Y-Yes?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes and pretending to be taken aback by his stern look.

"Well…" At this point, Dahlia noticed that the boy's face was beginning to pale, and Kristoph was fidgeting nervously. He then unfolded his arms and hid them behind his back, apparently trying to hide the fact that he was feeling…nervous, or scared, or however he was feeling. "…Care to sit with me?"

The German man gestured to a booth that had been diagonal to Dahlia's, all the way across the room. There was a column of tables that separated the lines of booths against the walls, but since the occupants of one of the tables had recently left, Miss Hawthorne assumed that one could get a perfect view of Diego Armando's hunched-over body (he looked as if he was sleeping right now).

As Kristoph and Dahlia approached the booth, the latter saw a kid—he couldn't be older than eight—sitting down, staring at the two of them with a really, really big smile on his face. "Hi, Mister Gavin! I watched your food just like you wanted me to!"

The kid stood up, pausing to smooth out his red tee-shirt, and gave Kristoph a little salute. Dahlia already thought of him as annoying—way too energetic, and he seemed to be the kind to get excited over any little thing. Ugh. The child had weird brown hair; two locks of it shot straight up at the front of his head in a style that could only be described as 'hair antennae'. He reminded Dahlia of that stupid kid in the Art department…Phoenix Left. Or was it Phoenix Wrong?

The older boy smiled, brushing a bit of hair out of his eyes. "Thank you, Apollo. I really appreciate it."

Apollo nodded with a "yup, it's no problem" before eyeing Dahlia, who was a few steps behind the German student. "Who's this pretty girl? Is she your friend?"

"Ah…I suppose you could say that. Her name is Miss Hawthorne." He glanced over his shoulder at Dahlia with an unreadable expression before folding his arms and turning back to the boy, who had just said 'hello' to the redhead. She had politely returned the greeting. "Now, Apollo…Miss Hawthorne and I need to talk about… _adult things_, okay? Why don't you go buy yourself a Swiss Roll in the meantime, hm?"

_Adult things_? Dahlia pondered on whether that had some sort of hidden meaning or if it was just an excuse to shoo the kid away. And suddenly, out of the blue, a thought occurred to her—he hadn't _seen_, had he…? But the young lady reassured herself: it was impossible for there to be any witnesses, because her plan had gone _perfectly_. It had definitely felt perfect the moment that Armando's head hit the table.

Hawthorne wasn't stupid, though, and she knew that there _had_ to be some kind of catch. There was always a catch, and Dahlia always managed to take care of the catches, but _last time_—agh, Dahlia _hated_ thinking of last time, when she killed Valerie—she had failed and almost got caught by that blasted lawyer.

"All right! Will do, Mister Gavin!" Apollo broke her train of thought with another little salute before skipping off. Gavin allowed Dahlia to make herself comfortable before taking a seat across from the red-haired woman. His stern look returned, but this time, the light didn't make his glasses flash, so the literature student could see that Kristoph's eyes were dull with…disappointment?

"Miss Hawthorne," he began, placing his arms on the table and crossing them, so that they could support him as he leaned forward and almost _searched_ her brown eyes for…something.

"Yes?" She stared back at him, with the shyness that every boy liked. "Wh-What is it?"

Kristoph seemed a bit unnerved by her innocence, as he suddenly jerked backward. When she shot him an odd look, the law student chuckled nervously, looking away and starting to play with his bangs. "Um…excuse me." Clearing his throat, he continued, and his serious demeanor returned. Kristoph's next sentence was much quieter: "I…I saw everything that happened, you know."

Dahlia could swear that her heart nearly stopped. She brought a hand to her shoulder, subconsciously playing with that flaming red hair of hers. _Don't worry, it's not what you think it is, it isn't at all. He didn't see that._ The lady forced herself to look confused; her eyebrows furrowed. She tilted her head. "…I don't know what you're talking about. What did you see?"

His eyes hardened and he folded his arms across his chest once more, staring at her over the rim of his glasses as if she was a child being scolded. "Please don't play dumb, Dahlia. Like I said, I saw everything: I saw you pouring that…that _poison_ into Mister Armando's coffee, and I saw him come back, and I saw that conversation, and…"

At this, he trailed off, but Dahlia got the point. A strange sinking feeling formed in her stomach and…for the first time since Valerie had told Dahlia that they needed to confess everything, the literature student felt really, truly _scared_. However, like most of her feelings, she pushed them aside and continued with the façade. Fake tears formed at the corners of her brown eyes, and Miss Hawthorne stared up into Kristoph's face. She opened her mouth to spurt some kind of excuse and beg him not to tell, but the man cut her off before Dahlia could say anything.

"Really, Dahlia. It isn't like you. All I wanted to let you know, though…" With the disappointed glare still on his face, he tilted his head upward slightly, and the light caught his glasses once again, covering his eyes with a sheet of pristine white. _I swear he's doing that on purpose_. "…is that I'll be reporting this to the police."

No, that shouldn't have frightened Dahlia. She could just smoothly talk her way out of it like all of the other times. But she _was_ afraid, and Hawthorne was scared because no one would believe her if she claimed that Gavin's claims were lies. The reason for that happened to be the beautiful crystal necklace around her neck, resting gently on her chest and going well with her pink and white attire. The false tears rolled down her pale cheeks as she blinked, sobbing, "Please, Kristoph, I can expla—"

"But I don't want you to explain," he cut off quickly. "I already know everything, Dahlia. Really. That clear liquid…it was atroquinine, wasn't it?"

"How do you—?"

"Coincidentally, my younger brother needs to give an oral report for chemistry class, and he sat me down to listen to it." Kristoph locked eyes with her, and it looked like he wanted to continue, but their conversation came to a halt when they heard the thudding of sneakers against tiles. The kid with the red tee-shirt—Apollo, was it—came bouncing over to the duo with a few packets of Swiss Rolls in hand. "Hey again, Mister Gavin! I got those Swiss Rolls and bought some for you and Miss Hawthorne, too! Sorry for taking so long; I saw Kay again and said hi!"

After staring at Dahlia for a while as she quickly wiped her tears away and turned to glance at Apollo, he met the gaze of the little boy and patted Apollo's head. This caused those "hair antennae" of his to bend downward; as a result, they sprang back up after Kristoph removed his hand. Apollo giggled at that before placing the Swiss Rolls on the table. "So, what are you talking about? Is it still the adult things?"

"Yes," replied Dahlia, before throwing a quick but wary glance at her classmate.

"Anyway, Apollo, thank you very much for the Swiss Rolls!" Taking a packet and placing it in her lap, Dahlia tilted her head to the side and smiled, closing her eyes briefly. The brown-haired boy grinned.

"You're welcome!"

Kristoph, clearly uncomfortable that his…friend, for lack of a better word, was casually chatting with a killer, rested a hand on Apollo's shoulder while letting his eyes wander. Dahlia followed his gaze to see that he was looking around the cafeteria—probably to find law enforcement or something. For some odd reason, there wasn't a single police officer or prosecutor in sight (apparently, everyone had left after finishing lunch; the only people around besides their threesome were the deceased-but-looked-asleep Diego and some blue-haired kid with a riding crop—but she was about to leave anyway).

Dahlia watched, half-interested, as the German lawyer-in-training opened his packet of Swiss Rolls and took a bite out of one while a rather awkward silence ensued. Suddenly, Apollo stood on his toes and whispered something into the law student's ear, to which Kristoph turned his head, set down his Swiss Roll, and replied. The two then began to converse quietly about something—Dahlia didn't know, and she didn't care, quite frankly, because she had an idea that could save her skin…that is, if she did it quick enough and Kristoph wasn't too dumb. It was a dangerous gamble, her next action.

Rapidly, she unscrewed her bottle necklace and poured the rest of the atroquinine over Kristoph's Swiss Roll before putting the cap back on and acting like nothing had happened. And then, as if on cue (and uncannily so), the two boys finished their conversation and Apollo ran off. It was completely quiet as the blonde-haired man turned to meet Dahlia's gaze, since the cafeteria staff were apparently in the kitchen and _still_ no one had noticed Armando's unmoving body. The two nineteen-year-olds stared at each other in silence: Dahlia was just waiting for Kristoph to pick the pastry up (it was slightly soggy from the atroquinine, but hopefully the man before her wouldn't mind), but she didn't know why Kristoph was just sitting and looking blankly into her brown eyes—wait, were his cheeks _reddening_?

The young German cleared his throat and glanced down at his Roll, picking it up—and suddenly raised his eyebrow at Dahlia. "I would like to know why my food is slightly damp. Do you, perhaps, have the answer?"

"No," answered Dahlia, pulling off the most innocent and puzzled face she could manage. "Maybe it's just your imagination…?"

He studied her through narrowed, wary eyes, before nodding and taking a bite—seriously, two men falling for the same trick in one day. Boys were really stupid. She exhaled in relief—at least now she wouldn't be caught for her crime, even if she had just committed another one unexpectedly. By now, the red-haired student's crystal bottle was all out of poison, so she rose from her seat and ambled out the door to find a way to destroy the evidence as Kristoph drifted into unconsciousness behind her.

. . . .

_Date, time, and location unknown._

If Kristoph could describe what he saw in one word, it was darkness.

But if you wanted the longer version of that description, the young man had ever-so-poetically described to himself it as "a vast amount of black, that stretched out as far as Kristoph could see, like an ocean of darkness. It was below him, and in front of him, and above him, and it was as if there was nothing at all, nothing but this dark color, and it was so close that the boy could touch it".

And then Kristoph realized that his eyes were closed, which was why everything was so dark. Mental face-palm moment right there. So, he was naturally going to rid himself of this darkness, and was about to open his eyes when the German heard a deep, masculine voice—and was it _mocking_ him?

"Ha…! You can't see anything with your eyes closed, pretty-boy. Why don't you open them?"

"I was about to do that," mumbled Kristoph, who was resisting the urge to make a comment on the "pretty-boy" nickname as his eyelids fluttered apart. What he noticed immediately was that he was looking up at…well, it was strange: basically, the "ceiling" or "walls" of wherever he was changed color often; at first, it was red, and then it quickly faded to orange, and yellow after that, going through the colors of a rainbow. It was enough to give anyone with epilepsy a seizure, really.

The other thing that the boy took notice of was that there was ground against his back; it seemed that he was lying on the floor. Or maybe he was pressed against the wall in a fun-house at one of those carnivals, but the chances of that weren't very high. After all, what kind of kidnapper would knock him out and then drag Kristoph to a fun-house? It must have been an abductor who knew him very well, as any close friend of the teen's knew that he had a strong hatred of anything that had to do with the carnival. Perhaps Klavier had brought him here? No, no, that idea was ludicrous. The ten-year-old was simply incapable of knocking him out.

Speaking of "knocking him out", Kristoph noticed that there was a dull ache in his head. Whether it was because of the potentially seizure-inducing walls or something else, he couldn't tell, but the boy's train of thought was broken when the same voice which had spoken earlier let out a snort. "Are you going to lie there forever, pretty-boy? A defense attorney's only got so much time on his hands, even if he's comatose. I've got Kittens to watch over, you know."

"Wha…?" Kristoph moaned as he pushed himself off the ground, now in a sitting position. He blinked several times, rubbing his head and adjusting his glasses. The law student took in his surroundings—the entire room was still glowing, but there was also a man sitting on what seemed to be a non-existent chair. With a steaming mug of coffee in his hand, the man (Kristoph guessed he was the owner of the annoyingly confident voice that had referred to the student as "pretty-boy") had jet-black hair, wild and apparently uncombed, almost like a lion's mane.

Other than his unkempt hair, this person was dressed nicely: he wore a tan-and-black waistcoat over a red dress shirt, and his trousers were black, too. Kristoph raised an eyebrow in surprise. This man was none other than Diego Armando, an "Ace Attorney" (as the newspapers called him). The younger man admired how Armando always kept a cool head, both inside and outside of court, and how Diego was one of the few attorneys at the Grossberg and Company Law Offices who did not use bluffing tactics. Honestly, Kristoph had distaste for bluffing—he felt safer knowing exactly where to go; planning everything out in perfection, and those who bluffed almost seemed…cowardly to Kristoph.

With that aside, the Ivy U. student wondered how exactly Diego was sitting there—not only was he supposed to be _dead_; he didn't even have a chair! And yet he was so comfortable! _This certainly defies the laws of physics…I doubt that even the amazing Mister Armando can sit like that. Perhaps this is all a dream…yes; it must be a dream—_

"Ouch!" And suddenly, he felt a sharp pain shoot up his arm. Kristoph winced, rubbing the spot where it had stung, and looked up to see Armando grinning. "In case you were wondering, pretty-boy, you're not dreaming. Just wanted to let you know."

Gavin groaned, shooting a glare in Diego's direction. Really, this guy was awesome in court and on television, but he was a _literal_ pain in person. "…Please stop calling me that dreadful nickname. My name is Kristoph Gavin, and you may refer to me as such."

The older attorney teasingly poked Kristoph's shoulder, and his grin grew wider (which Kristoph had thought of as impossible earlier). "Aww, you're no fun. Lighten up, Krissy!"

"_Krissy_?" Now, _that_ was crossing a line somewhere. Mister Gavin folded his arms and frowned, surveying the glowing not-epilepsy-friendly room they stood in. That headache was growing stronger… "Putting that aside, where are we?"

"Ah." Diego set his white coffee mug down on the invisible floor they were standing on and gestured around with his arms. His smirk had been reduced to a smile, but it was an amused smile nonetheless. Was he actually having fun here? _Really_, Kristoph mused, _everyone I know is rather…eccentric. Sometimes I feel like the only sane person around here…_

"This place is kind of like the afterlife…except it's more of the reception desk in a hotel for comatose people. Mystic Ami told me that. Apparently, she's my Kitten's ancestor. Nice lady, that one."

"What…?"

"Nothing you'd understand, Krissy." Again with the infuriating nickname. Kristoph sighed and shook his head, inquiring, "So why am I here?"

Mister Armando ran a hand through his mane-like hair before he bent down to pick up his cup once more. The older man closed his eyes as he took a sip of the hot drink, and Kristoph really wondered how he could manage doing that without burning his tongue—whenever the German would drink his tea, he needed to either let it cool for a while or pour in lots of milk to even out the temperature. Finally, after he had pulled the cup away from his lips and had his attention focused on Kristoph, the Hispanic attorney answered while gesturing at his cup. "Even the most subtle touch of flavor can make an impact on the entire cup."

"…I'm sorry, but I don't speak Coffeenese. Care to clarify?" The younger man peered at Mister Armando over the rim of his glasses, both eyebrows raised. Yes, this lawyer was very eccentric, just like the rest of Kristoph's acquaintances.

Diego let out a laugh at that; a single "ha…!" He sipped his coffee once more before sticking a hand in his pocket, and chuckling, "It means that, no matter how insignificant you are, you make a difference to _everything_."

"Your point being…?" pressed Kristoph. "What does this have to do with the fact that I'm here at this…reception desk, as you put it?"

"Well," began Diego. He turned around so that his back was to Kristoph. The attorney waved his cup of coffee in the air grandly for emphasis as he continued his explanation. "The universe has a lot of different dimensions, and every dimension is in the exact same place, but different creatures from different dimensions do not have the mental capacity to comprehend the fact that there are things from another dimension going on around them."

"Um…go on?" Kristoph was weirded out and slightly confused by this, but it _did_ seem interesting…especially since it sounded like something out of a sci-fi movie. He had a thing with science fiction movies; they intrigued him as he tried to work out how things in those movies would really happen, from a scientific perspective.

Diego called the younger man's name to get his attention—he could apparently see that Kristoph's thoughts were wandering based on the German's expression. Armando cleared his throat before continuing. "So, there's this one dimension I know about, and it's in a bit of hot water, so to speak. And…"

When he trailed off, the blonde tipped his head. "Go on. What?"

The older man turned back around, and suddenly, Mister Armando's smirk broke into another one of those grins. He leaned forward, and much to Kristoph's annoyance, poked the young boy's nose. "And you're just _too_ fun to mess with."

He jerked away at the contact; brushing a strand of hair away and feeling his cheeks heat up. "E-Excuse me?"

"You heard me right. I was watching you at the cafeteria today, and you are _too_ fun to mess with. So I thought that, since I'm going to be watching over you living people, I should keep a close eye on you, too, and enter your thoughts once in a while. Just to see how paranoid you get."

"You…what? Wait, what?" The attorney snickered at this, while Kristoph just stood there, feeling completely dumbfounded, confused, and insulted at the same time. Diego's expression suddenly sobered slightly, to the German boy's relief. "And then…Dahlia, you know…"

"Hm?" Kristoph's eyebrow shot up. "What did Dahlia do?"

The grin disappeared entirely from Mister Armando's face as he placed the coffee on a non-existent table and slipped both hands in his pockets. "Look, pretty-boy. How do you think you got here?"

Slightly peeved at how the level-headed attorney could tease Kristoph while his expression was so deadpan, the nineteen-year-old folded his arms, closed his eyes, and looked away. He tried to remember what had happened right before his vision went blurry and then Kristoph had been thrown into the darkness that he had awakened to just a while ago. "Well…I do remember that my Swiss Roll was soggy. And I asked Dahlia why. She said I was probably imagining it."

"And?"

"What do you mean by 'and'?" Gavin opened his eyes, and without moving his head, shot a glance at the defense lawyer.

Armando rolled his eyes and smirked. "You mean you seriously don't get it? Jeez, and I thought you were smart, pretty-boy. With the glasses and all—"

"Hey!" Kristoph snapped. He stomped his foot in frustration, glaring at the coffee addict. The boy had _tried_ to keep his cool, but Diego was so annoying… and besides, Kristoph's temper had to break some time, if his new acquaintance kept up the snide comments. "Don't call me that, seriously! It gets on my nerves!"

And then Kristoph realized that he had done the nearly-impossible: stunned the great Diego Armando into silence. The German unfolded his arms and locked eyes with the older man before lowering his head a bit in shame; he had quickly recollected himself after the outburst. "S-Sorry for shouting…"

"It's not your fault, kid." The defense attorney leaned backwards, now sitting down in an invisible chair (Kristoph was really sure by now that imaginary surfaces appeared wherever Diego wished them to appear). He picked up his coffee, giving it a sip before putting the white mug back down. "I think I crossed the line quite a while ago. Sorry for that."

The boy was going to say that Diego's apology was accepted, but his thoughts were distracted by the conversation they were originally having. He tried to sit down, like Diego had—imagining that there was a chair right where he was going to sit—and to his (concealed) delight, some kind of force really did keep him up, like a chair. "So…back to the topic at hand—I was fun to mess with, so you were apparently thinking of screwing my mind while you were in that coma of yours, but Dahlia did _something_—"

"The Tigress poisoned you. She poured atroquinine all over your Swiss Roll, apparently. A tricky cat, that one."

"Oh." Kristoph wasn't surprised at this, to be honest. She probably _had_ wanted to get rid of him…maybe it would've been best if he never told her that he was going to report her attempt on Diego's life.

"So, now that you're not bound to your dimension," continued Mister Armando, "I was thinking of having…a _different_ kind of fun with you."

The attorney smirked, and suddenly Kristoph felt a pang of nervousness. Based on the past few minutes he had spent with Diego Armando, the teen knew that his definition of 'fun' would result in something bad. Er, something bad for Kristoph, that is. Obviously, Diego would take great pleasure in…whatever it was.

"As I was saying…there's this one dimension that seems to be in trouble." Diego tilted his head back and smirked. "And I…am going to send _you_ into that dimension, which happens to be _full_ of crazy people that I know you'll hate. And while you try to save the world, I'll be watching and laughing, 'kay, kid?"

"W-Wait, what was tha—"

"Good, then it's settled. Now, close your eyes and hold my hand like this…" When Mister Armando's hand came to rest on top of Kristoph's hand, the boy felt himself shudder—Diego's hand was warm because of the coffee mug he had been holding, which was a nice contrast to the young lawyer-in-training's own ice-cold skin. He was too busy being upset over what Diego was about to do, though, to notice this much: "B-But, Mister Armando! I haven't even agreed to this!"

He grinned. "Well, that's too bad, isn't it?"

"Excuse me?!"

Before Kristoph could properly hear the answer to his question, his vision dimmed, gradually turning completely black, and he could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness as Diego's voice grew farther and farther.

. . . .

**Author's Note: Yes, yes, I know it probably sucked. But once I got the idea of a Kristoph-centric PMD/Ace Attorney crossover in my head, I couldn't get it out. I'm aware that people may think Kristoph (maybe Dahlia, too) is acting out-of-character right now, but keep in mind that he's only nineteen right now, so he hasn't committed a crime yet (at least, according to canon) and he doesn't have as much practice with concealing his feelings.**

**We haven't seen any of the "Pokemon" half of this story yet, but we will in the next chapter, hopefully. I am honestly kind of disappointed with this start; it's more like a badly-written Diego/Dahlia/Kristoph one-shot rather than the prologue to an adventure story somewhat based on the Pokemon Mystery Dungeon _Explorers_ trilogy.**

**Anyway, enough blabbing from me. Reviews and PMs about the story are greatly appreciated. c: Happy writing!**


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